tread lightly because you tread on my dreams
by IssyEmm
Summary: "If he had told her 'no' from the start and broken her little heart and had her hate him for humiliating her and isolating her, then she would be miserable, and he would be miserable, but at least he would wake up tomorrow morning and she would be there to despise him." Audrey is the 3rd victim; Cooper doesn't take it well. AU. *Updated*


"Cooper, there's been another murder."

A jolt of sick panic shot through his stomach. Harry's voice had a slight edge to it, a queasiness, an uneasiness that one would expect, but one accompanied by the rattling of teeth as his jaw involuntarily shuddered, a rattle that most officers lost after a while. But this was Harry's town, his country, his whole world – he had been born here, and Cooper knew he would die here, and when he did, he would join with it as his physical form deteriorated and intertwined with the mud and dirt and the foliage and the Douglas Firs. Cooper envied him for that – home was a word he didn't quite yet understand. Cooper imagined that any death in the community was like a bullet in Harry's stomach, and finding the killer was a plaster to try and stop the bleeding. It was never enough to make the hurt go away.

"What's different Harry?" Cooper asked, no-nonsense, his ears almost ringing with the imperceptible clack of Harry's molars against one another. He stood up from his chair, abandoning the line of donuts and his coffee, though it pained him to do it.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, bluffing with a wildness in his eyes that instantly gave away his fear. Cooper was surprised by the manic expression that he was broadcasting. Not when they had found Maddy, not even when they had discovered Laura – wrapped up like a fish waiting to be sold on a market stall – had Harry looked so distressed. There was no resignation here, no sadness, no morose acceptance. He looked as though he were burning from the inside out.

"Harry, there's no time for this," Cooper insisted, throwing his coat over his blazer and leading the Sheriff towards the door, opening it slightly and leaving it ajar when Harry put his hand on his shoulder to halt him. Cooper took a step back, raising his eyebrows, and Harry pressed a hand against the glass and closed the door, cutting off the sea of curious faces lingering outside.

"Cooper, you might wanna sit down for this," Harry murmured, removing his hat and pressing it to his chest, like a bandage that would keep his heart from falling from his chest. Cooper stared him down, tried to read the truth from the irises of his eyes, find the pattern and formulate the words that would explain Harry's behaviour. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if it were detaching itself and trying to wiggle its way into his shoes. Cooper couldn't explain why he felt it, why his hand was clenching into a fist so tight that it was painful, so tight that his fingers were bulging with blood.

"Cooper, I got a call from Hawk. They're down by what's left of the Packard Saw Mill. It's…There's…"

Harry was visibly struggling to get the words out. Cooper could feel the blood draining from his own face as his body reacted before his brain could figure out what exactly was happening. The air between them seemed contaminated somehow, a noxious gas that threatened to poison the both of them if either said another word. There was something close to comprehension, something close to _knowing_ when Harry murmured, "Cooper, they've found the body of Audrey Horne."

He could hear his heartbeat as it slowed, how the blood pumping around his body settled, like the quiet after the storm, the rain after the drought, the kiss after the separation.

"Of course they have," he replied lowly, sinking into the seat he had previously occupied, "She was too nosy, too clever, too interested in what had happened."

Cooper looked out of the window, unable to cast his eyes towards Harry, unable to stomach the pity that he would find there. The rain pounded down outside, in cascades, as if someone on the roof were tipping buckets of water down the side of the building. There was a low rumble in the black sky, an unsettling thunder that hovered over Twin Peaks as if it were never to be dispelled, and all the lightness of the day, and all the good work that had been done, was extinguished. Cooper breathed so deeply that the three bullet holes in his stomach quivered and expanded before he shut his eyes and willed the pain away. A fruitless exercise. Audrey, who had been devoted to him, who had tried to seduce him with her sultry voice and sensual charm and only succeeded in endearing herself through her innocence and her small, honest smiles. Audrey, who thought her father was ashamed of her, who wanted above all else to be loved.

Audrey, who had died thinking that she wasn't.

Cooper hung his head low and clasped his right hand over his eyes as he wept, and the reassertion of Harry's palm on his shoulder, kneading the joint, trying to convey his compassion, made him weep more so. The small walls echoed the bitter noise back to him, creating an inescapable chain of grief in the tiny office. The warm tears felt thick on his cheeks, smothering him, barricading him inside of himself, and they created a nasty sting upon coming into contact with his dry, cracked lips. If he hadn't have known better, he would've said there was a civil war in his chest as the right and left halves of his heart tried to pull away from one another, the pain enough to drag his hand from his eyes to his shirt. He gripped the fabric between his fingers, sinking his nails into the fibres, as if tearing it apart would bring her back.

"Cooper, I'm going to drive you back to the Great Northern," Harry said, with a shake in his voice, but it was obvious that his pain had been derided from having to burden Cooper with the news. He knew Audrey, liked her even, but even the oblivious Sheriff knew that it would tear him to pieces, "I'm going to head on down to Packards. You take tomorrow; take as long as you need."

Cooper re-emerged, and looked pointedly at Harry, as if he were going to argue. And then he nodded. He hadn't realised he would ever _feel_ so much again. He had hidden heartbreak and dejection deep inside, buried it so far down that he could take the bad with a half smile and a wistful comment. Cooper hadn't realised that he could still cry, that there existed a sadness powerful enough to break down the wall that he had constructed, to shatter his particular brand of spiritual optimism into uncountable shards.

"Thank you Harry," he replied, but his words were nothing but whispers in a thunderstorm, a single voice in a choir, one chapter in a library.

Cooper blinked, and he was inside his room at the Northern. The familiar scent of pine should have been welcoming, but only made him think of her, so much so that it was overpowering. He looked at the bed, and all he could see was her, bare-faced, tucked under his duvet with tear stains on her cheeks and a wobble on her bottom lip that told him nothing was okay. He could see her sitting by his desk making fun of him, showing off the results of her own private investigations, her jubilant surprise at finding out there were women in the FBI.

She had created a whole private world for herself, where she could be who she wanted, and do what she wanted, and have everything for herself, and she had let him into it. She had told him everything – not for attention, not for the sympathy or the pat on the cheek, but to prove to him that she trusted him. That she trusted him enough to love him and not expect anything in return.

He brushed his fingertips against the envelope of the note she had left him six days ago. A pervading, perverse, mutilated sense of guilt began to engulf him as he laid down on top of the bed sheets and stared at the ceiling. If he hadn't encouraged her… If he had protected her…

And it was so much worse than last time. Caroline had died under his care, but he hadn't been responsible for the motive behind her murder. This time, it was all on him. If he hadn't engaged Audrey, if he hadn't gotten her so tangled into his dangerous crime-solving web, then there would have been no reason to want her gone. If he had told her _no_ from the start and broken her little heart and had her hate him for humiliating her and isolating her, then she would be miserable, and he would be miserable, but at least he would wake up tomorrow morning and she would be there to despise him.

He ordered room service – a third of whiskey on ice – but was unsurprised when it didn't arrive. The barbershop quartet was silent, and all the voices that normally permeated around the hotel, travelling between the thin walls and the high ceilings like a fire, were deathly quiet. It was as if they were all holding their breath, all too afraid to make a sound.

Cooper leaned across the bed to grab his cassette recorder from the cabinet.

"Diane," he said, choking the name out, "It's 11:42. Audrey Horne was killed this evening. The same person who murdered Laura Palmer and Maddy Ferguson. She was too close to the truth…too close to me."

That would do. There was nothing more he could say.

The sleep that he fell into was twisted and violent and his limbs spasmed whilst his body worked to prevent a fever. He kicked the quilt from his bed and the bottom sheet wrapped itself around his ankles and knees, entangling his body in the fabric. Outside, the thunderstorm mirrored his turmoil, lightning thrashing the town and inflaming the forestry and open ground. Eventually, Cooper's body wore itself out, and he found an odd balance between being asleep and being awake that was ruined by a persistent knocking on his room's door in the early hours of the morning.

"Who is it?" Cooper called, his tone a blend of irritation and disinterest.

"It's me Captain."

If his blood had run cold earlier, it was frozen in his veins now.

"Audrey," he breathed out, sitting up in his bed and all but running to the door of his room. But Cooper stopped himself before his hand reached the knob. Hope was too much right now. He had to wet the flame inside him that burned with the anticipation that she might still be alive.

"Audrey this is a dream," he said, placing a hand onto the door and knowing hers was resting against the same place on the other side. His heart constricted in his chest.

"I know, but you can still talk to me," the voice replied, bright, almost cheerfully, and Cooper had to take a shaking breath to calm his nerves as he reached for the doorknob, twisted it to the right, and pulled his door open.

The last time he had seen her, God he had nearly forgotten, she had kissed him. Briefly, playfully, like she was marking her territory, and it had made him feel years younger, had taken away the years that he had gained from all the loss and damage he had experienced.

And here she was again, in front of him, seemingly as real as the day is long, not a single ebony hair out of place, her stain-glass blue eyes calming the tempest inside of him. For the longest moment he simply stared at her, analysed her, remembered every aspect of her face from the carefully plucked eyebrows to the rouged red lips, and memorised the angle of her smile.

"I miss you already," he told her, lifting up a hand to her cheek, afraid to touch her, afraid that his hand would go right through her and splinter his illusion. She moved into his embrace, placing a delicate hand on top of his, and entwining her fingers within his.

"I know," she replied, a serious note to her voice that reminded him of the day she had told him all of her secrets.

"I never told you," Cooper said mournfully, looking deep into those azure eyes and hoping that they weren't just a fantasy, "I never told you how I felt. I was too blind, too foolish to realise how important you were to me."

"Well you have the chance now, if you want to take it," Audrey replied light-heartedly, leading him over to his rumpled bed and lying down on the right side of the mattress. He joined her, leaning onto his side and disturbing his stomach wounds. It was all worth it though, worth it for her.

"I was so afraid to love you," Cooper said, running his fingers through her hair, brushing it behind her ear, carving out the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. Her skin felt how he imagined it would – like porcelain, like the finest velvet, smooth and beautiful and soft. She smiled sadly at him.

"I know you were. That's why I tried so hard," she replied back, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, mirrored by his returned smile. She nervously stretched out a hand and traced the curves of his lips whilst he feared to breath. Audrey appeared deep in concentration, her brows furrowed as she explored the outline of his mouth.

"I thought I was just another man, another man in a thousand that were infatuated with you. I thought you would enjoy me and then forget me," he confessed, unable to look her in the eyes.

When he did, she looked hurt, and retracted her hand. The sudden loss of warmth hit him hard, and he felt dizzy suddenly.

"I never asked those men to love me. I never wanted it," she said, "You were the first person who listened to me…who respected me. You were the only person who ever really _knew_ me. How could you think that I didn't love you?"

Tears were gleaming in her bright eyes, and he caught one as it escaped from the clutches of her long eyelashes and journeyed down her face. He pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, caressed her cheeks in his shaking palms.

"You were only eighteen Audrey. When I was eighteen, I had no clue of what love really was; I still don't now," Cooper tried to explain, but he was cut off when Audrey began to speak.

"Maybe you're right. I didn't exactly have the template for a good relationship with anyone to base my feelings for you off of. But I know how I felt when I was around you. Like I was safe with you, like I could come to you even in the worst moment of my life and you would make me feel wanted and important. Agent Cooper, when I was with you, I could forget the rest of this town and dream that it was just me and you, together."

She placed a hand on his chest, over the space where his heart lay.

"I felt _warm_ here when I was with you."

He was speechless. Unable to say a single word back to her, unable to muster the strength to reply, he covered her hand with his own and grazed his lips across her fingertips.

"It's not fair that this happened to you," Cooper uttered, and he wondered if Audrey could feel his heart crumbling beneath her small palm.

"I know," she whispered back, and they lay in silence together for some time, a lazy quietness between them, interspersed with brief touches and murmurs and, sometimes audibly, the word _love_ , and the words _I'm sorry_.

"What happens to you now?" Cooper asked, and Audrey laughed in a way that made his stomach ache with loss.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll move up to another plane, maybe I'll haunt my father for a little while," she teased gently, and if she had been alive, he would have chastised her for being so callous. Now he smiled as she plotted. "Maybe I'll stick around with you for a few days," she murmured, and Cooper realised it was a question as opposed to a plan.

"How would that work?" he replied, and she sighed aloud.

"I don't think it would. Even now I can feel this strange tugging, and I'm more lightweight, like something's trying to drag me skywards," she said with an uncomfortable frown, glaring up at the ceiling as if the bare light bulbs were to blame for her troubles.

"Audrey, do you know who did this to you?" Cooper asked, on the verge of a terrifying acceptance that he didn't want, and here was the spark and the anger and the fury that Audrey had always suspected he hid beneath the calm exterior. Here was the man who would go through fire and blood to save her.

She shook her head, shaking away the memories, shaking away just what had happened because it _hurt_ so badly. Flashes warred across her mind, a scream echoing, so depraved that she felt like she was drowning. "I don't know, I don't know," she repeated, "I remember I was in the lobby talking to someone, I don't-I don't think they planned it. I don't think they realised I knew anything until I opened my big mouth…"

"This wasn't your fault," Cooper warned, "Audrey, this is on me. It always will be. I should have been there to protect you, I should've known…"

"Should've, would've, could've Agent Cooper," she replied, with a trace of something he thought was bitterness in her voice, "Nothing would have stopped them. Not once they knew how involved I was."

"I shouldn't have let you get involved," Cooper replied sternly, berating himself.

She laughed, full-bodied and loudly, and Cooper's insides twisted unpleasantly when he realised this was a sound he had never heard before. It was nothing short of divine.

"Do you think you would have been able to stop me?" Audrey asked, incredulity in her voice, "All my life men told me what to do and I ignored them. This was my choice."

"And yet everyone else has to deal with the ramifications," Cooper said back, and his voice was almost a shout in the strangled silence besetting the hotel, "You died and now we have to live with it Audrey, we have to find the words to carve into your gravestone, we have to bury you, we have to try and move on as if _you_ had never happened! I- I'll carry you around for the rest of my existence, I'll carry you like a dead weight across my shoulders because no matter what happens, I will always be in love with you, and you will always be _gone_."

The divide between them was so great it was almost tangible, and he instantly regretted his words, the way they had spilled out without refrain or respite, like a tsunami raining down on a coastline from above. His accusations lingered like acid on his tongue, and the fragility of her expression, the wobble in her bottom lip that told him she was restraining tears, the betrayed glare in her eyes, all of it made him feel as if this were real life. He was forgetting that this was a dream…He would stay asleep forever if he could.

"I'm sorry Audrey, it's been…it's been a rough night," Cooper muttered, turning to lie on his back and stare up at the ceiling.

"Been a rough night for you," she mocked, but her anger had dissipated it seemed, and she could almost have been joking with him.

"I don't know what else to say to you," he said honestly as the minutes rode by, "I feel like we could talk about everything and nothing."

"Maybe this is where we say goodbye then," Audrey replied, a hitch in her utterance that made goose bumps run up his forearms.

"I don't want you to go," he said, and his voice cracked halfway through the whisper. He knew he sounded childish, unreasonable, simpleminded, but letting her go would be akin to killing her himself and he already had that figurative blood on his hands, stains that would never fade, blood he would never be able to get out from under his fingernails.

"I have to Agent Cooper," she insisted, "I almost want to. This town was never big enough for me anyway." He gave her the genesis of a smile that he couldn't quite complete, and she looked at him wistfully, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle that he had set her.

"I'll still dream of you," Cooper assured, sitting up in the unmade bed and waiting for her to join him. Audrey smiled bashfully, and patted down the side of his gelled hair that had stuck up in his restless sleep before she had arrived.

"I hope you do," she whispered, and she leant in towards him, her eyes closed, sensing his lips by the faint touch of his exhalations of breath against her mouth. When they met there was a pause, a familiarity, but it ended when he wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his other hand on her collarbone, his thumb brushing against the soft skin of her neck. Her lips were gentle against his, untried and untested, like the first glimpses of the sun after a frost. He kissed her languidly, as if he had all of the time in the world tied up into a neat little ball under his command, and she grazed his bottom lip with her teeth before he smiled against her mouth, tilting his head to the side. Moving apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their noses aligned, and she wiped stray tears from his eyes, returning his earlier favour.

"I'm so sorry Audrey," Cooper murmured, not needing to speak any louder.

"I'm sorry too Agent Cooper," she replied, and when he opened his eyes, she was gone. There was an unmistakeable chill in the air.

"I'm sorry for breaking your heart."

The words came from nowhere, but when Cooper grudgingly awoke in the next few seconds, faced with the challenge of confronting the day, and confronting the new reality he had been awarded, they lingered in his mind, alongside the faint remembrance of a half-smile, and the fading memory of a first and final bittersweet kiss.


End file.
